


everybody’s pickin’ up on that feline beat

by boasamishipper



Series: and i think it's gonna be a long, long time [5]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Aliens, Cats, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Early Mornings, Gen, Interspecies Friendship, Late Nights, Space Battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boasamishipper/pseuds/boasamishipper
Summary: Korath the Pursuer, Kree Star Force. Chewie Kazansky, part-time cat, full-time Flerken. It’s a battle just waiting to happen.





	everybody’s pickin’ up on that feline beat

Finally.

The lights in the bedroom flicker off for the night, and Korath steps out of the shadows on the street. Three starsdamned days he’d spent watching this house, feeling out the owner’s routine. Iceman Kazansky — or Ice, that’s Chell’s cute little nickname for him — is a Terran of ritual and pattern. He gets up every day at seven in the morning, and comes back from work at five, and goes to bed before midnight every night. What he does in the house is a mystery that Korath doesn’t care much to solve, but occasionally he has company worth noting: that Terran government agent, Fury, and of course, Chell.

It’s almost entertaining how clever Chell thinks he is. Helping the Skrull by sailing from planet to planet in Mar-Vell’s former Cruiser, and then returning home to his lover whenever he can. Sure, he tries to be subtle. He always comes at night, and spreads out the visits, and makes sure to take confusing paths on his way back to C-53. But he’s just as much of an idiot as Korath always knew he’d been if he thinks that these little excursions have escaped Star Force’s attention.

Korath had his orders, and a plan that he intended to follow to the letter. He would take Kazansky back to Hala, beat him until the Terran wouldn’t even be able to plead for mercy. Then he would signal Chell, organize an exchange: Chell’s life for his lover’s. And when Chell would show up to make the exchange — because of course he would, he was a bleeding heart even at the worst of times — Korath would take great pleasure in killing Kazansky right in front of Chell. And then he would kill Chell too, slowly and painfully. He would finish the work he had started five years ago, and he knew that his commander and the Supreme Intelligence would be pleased with him.

He sets off across the street, slipping easily over the fence and into Kazansky’s backyard. Stars, Minn-Erva had been right; C-53 really is a shithole. He studies the room on the second floor, squinting at the window. Kazansky’s probably asleep, it’d be easy enough to rocket up and go straight through the window to grab him — then again, that’d just lead to trouble with Kazansky’s neighbors, and while he’s got nothing against killing Terrans (they’re just as much of vermin as Skrull, really, but less green), he wants this to be quick and easy. Painless.

Not for Kazansky, that is. For himself.

He’s just decided on blasting up through the window anyway — all the potential setbacks be damned — when there’s a scuffling on the porch, and he immediately draws his weapon. A shape comes out through the tiny built-in flap in the back door, and he almost laughs out loud. Is that a _ cat? _ Kazansky has a _ cat? _ Really? Stars, humans really are stupid, sentimental fools. (Though Korath would be lying if he didn’t say that the cat looked strangely familiar…)

Oh well. He’s on a mission. No time to waste.

“Feline,” he snaps. The cat cocks its head, sizing him up. “Get out of here before I dispose of you.”

“Meow,” says the cat. It looks like it wants to laugh, like it’s _ daring _Korath to try and kill it. That little shit.

Korath points his blaster directly at the cat’s head, a smirk tugging at his mouth. He can consider this a down payment on Kazansky’s torture. Plus Chell’s probably fond of the cat, so killing it will be a double bonus. “Say your prayers, cat,” he says, and clicks the safety off—

And then the cat eats his blaster.

Tentacles shoot out of its mouth to grab the blaster right out of Korath’s hands, which zooms back into the cat’s mouth before Korath could blink, and the cat chews it up and swallows it. Korath’s jaw is roughly at his knees, because oh. _ Oh. _ It isn’t a cat, it’s a Flerken. The same one from five years ago, in fact. Kazansky had adopted it? Even Korath has to admit that that takes a respectable amount of balls. For a Terran.

“Meow,” says the Flerken. Its eyes had narrowed to slits, its teeth bared. Korath doesn’t speak cat or Flerken, but gets the gist of it: _ if you want my human, you’re going to have to get through me. _

Korath charges at the Flerken with a yell, brandishing his dual broadswords, and the Flerken jumps off the porch, hissing a battle cry of its own. It dodges both of his swings easily, scampering through his legs and behind him, and then uses the tentacles from its mouth to knock Korath right off his feet. Korath hits the ground hard, which loosens his grip on his weapons — which, of course, the Flerken swallows whole. 

He’s back on his feet in a second and grabs one of the Flerken’s tentacles when it comes shooting towards his head. Unfortunately, the tentacles are fiery hot to the touch, and he drops it, howling in pain as the flesh on his hand starts to burn and blister. Then the Flerken’s remaining tentacles go for his legs, picking him up so he’s dangling upside down.

He hurriedly presses the communicator at his wrist, not even bothering to wait for it to go green. “CTC-39,” he says, “there’s a Flerken here, I repeat, Kazansky’s got a—”

And then the Flerken eats him, and Korath knows no more.

* * *

Chkwhrllx, known to humans as Chewie, known to her enemies as _AGHHHHHHHH,_ does not like a lot of things. Jumps through hyperspace. Citrus fruits. Hairballs. But at the top of her list of Things She Does Not Like is people who try to hurt her humans.

They’re just so _ helpless. _ They only have the one heart, the one stomach, the two lungs. Not even a backup for any of those! And no fur to keep them warm in the winter, no impenetrable immune system. Not to mention they only live for eighty, ninety years tops. (That’s a blink of an eye to a Flerken, especially one whose thousandth birthday is only a couple of decades away.) And then all these aliens come down to hurt the humans who don't even know how to protect themselves properly — they don't even have their own _ tentacles, _for crying out loud — and, well. Chewie’s always happy to teach these rude aliens why you shouldn’t fuck with an angry Flerken.

Her latest human’s a bit of a mystery. Chewie had been given to Iceman Kazansky two days after Mar-Vell had died, and neither she nor Ice had been in the mood to be friends with each other. He was gruff, and tall, and big, and kept mostly to himself. It wasn’t until she saw Ice punch a radio until it broke and break down crying over the loss of his lover did she try to comfort him, and he’d given her a watery, brave smile and thanked her, and she’d thought, _ Yes. I will protect you, sad baby human. You are mine now. _

And now his lover’s back, and Ice is much much happier. Smiling much more, buying her more toys and feeding her shrimp (her favorite Terran food) on more than just special occasions. She loves Ice and his Mav and Agent Fury, who always scratches her behind the ears just right. Life is grand. She just wishes that these stupid Kree would stop coming down from Hala to try and kill her human. You’d think they’d have learned their lesson by now.

Ice comes down the stairs to the kitchen the next morning, and sits down next to her at the kitchen table while the coffeemaker makes his coffee. Another fascinating Terran invention. She likes coffee, but only Mav lets her have some — and only when Ice isn’t looking. “Morning,” he says to her, his voice rough with sleep. “Had a fun night?”

Chewie cocks her head to the side. Thinks it over. She’s still got a half-digested Kree soldier and two weapons in one of her stomachs, and she’d spent the rest of the night pacing around the porch and playing with her toys. Yes, she thinks, it had been a fun night. So she meows.

“Good,” Ice says, and pets her. “Good kitty.”

Chewie preens.

**Author's Note:**

> this ficlet is about 99% crack, but you can consider it something of a prologue for what's about to come next...because things are about to get serious. ;)


End file.
